The Changing Game
by Persephone21
Summary: On the night of the Holyhead Harpies' last regular season game, their star chaser commits suicide. Ginny Weasley, suspecting foul play, asks her boyfriend, Harry Potter, to investigate. While solving the mystery of Arista Quigley's death, the two find themselves not only tangled in a mess of politics and terrorism, but also in danger of damaging their relationship irreparably.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is responsible for creating this world, I'm just living in it for a little while.

* * *

**The Changing Game**

Ginny Weasley isn't having a good day.

It begins with losing her wand and being twenty minutes late to Quidditch practice, and it ends with the rotten news that she's been named a reserve on the English National team while her Harpies teammate, Arista Quigley, has been made a starter. She and Arista don't get along very well off the pitch, and, needless to say, Ginny hasn't taken the snub very well either. Ginny's not normally the type to let little things frustrate her, but the accumulation of today's events has left her in a foul mood. _And very late_, she reflects as she checks her watch.

Clenching the letter she's just received tightly in one hand and trying her hardest to ignore all the congratulations Arista's receiving on the far end of the Holyhead Harpies' locker room, Ginny waves her wand rapidly, and her various things fly from her locker and into her duffle-bag. Shoving her letter in it and throwing the whole thing over her shoulder, she Apparates to her flat before anyone else can offer their congratulations or pity.

She appears with a pop in her living room, and has a hard time resisting the urge to just curl up on her sofa and sleep for the rest of the night. But she's expecting company in—she checks her watch again—five minutes and it would probably be rude to skive off just to nap. Throwing her bag on the worn table beside her front door, Ginny shuffles to her bathroom. With a weary sigh, she removes her uniform and steps in the shower in hopes of removing not only the sweat and dirt, but also the exhaustion of the day. She's only just lathered shampoo into her hair when she hears the faint sound of knocking over the noise of the shower.

"Come in!" she shouts, hoping she can be heard through the walls. After a few moments of listening and not hearing the locks on her front door, Ginny turns off the water and climbs out of the tub. Wrapping a towel tightly around herself, she pulls open the bathroom door and yelps loudly.

"Harry!" she cries, barely managing to hold on to her towel.

Harry Potter, Ginny's boyfriend of three and a half years, stands just outside the door, apparently having let himself in quietly. Ginny really shouldn't be that surprised—he's trained in Stealth and Tracking, after all. Harry's dressed casually today, in jeans and a grey shirt, and Ginny figures he must have got off work early enough to go round his own flat and change.

"Did you forget about our date?" he asks, leaning against the wall and smirking at her. His eyes travel down to the towel barely covering her nakedness, and his grin widens suggestively.

A familiar heat settles in the pit of Ginny's stomach—it's the same heat that always accompanies Harry looking at her like that—and she almost suggests he join her as she finishes her shower. But then she remembers her horrible day, and her desire is quickly stamped out. "I'm going to finish up," she tells him instead, "And you're going to go wait for me in the living room."

Before he can protest, she presses a quick kiss to his lips and then locks herself back in the bathroom. Twenty minutes later finds her clean and dressed in jeans to match Harry's and one of his Weasley sweaters that she'd stolen years ago. She walks back out to the living room and leans against the doorway for a moment, watching Harry as he waits for her. He's sprawled out on her sofa, scanning a copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ that's been sitting unread on her coffee table for months. His glasses keep sliding to the edge of his nose as he reads, and he pushes them back up every so often with a slight frown of annoyance.

Filled with affection for the man that puts up with her bad days like this one, she walks over and throws herself on the sofa next to him. She presses herself against him and buries her face in the crook of his neck. "Let's just stay here all night," she murmurs into his skin.

They'd planned on grabbing a quick dinner in Diagon Alley and then catching a screening at a muggle cinema, but Ginny doesn't really feel like venturing out anymore—the press have surely heard the news by now.

She feels Harry snake an arm around her waist and plant a kiss on the top of her head. "I'm guessing you found out today?" he asks, accurately guessing what's upset her. When she nods against his shoulder, he pulls her against him more firmly. "They must be completely mad," he says, like a good, supportive boyfriend.

Ginny snorts and sits up, avoiding Harry's gaze. "No, they were right not to choose me," she says. "I haven't had a very consistent season, and I'll never be on par with _Arista_."

Her bitterness must have snuck into her voice, because Harry seems to understand immediately. "She was chosen instead of you?"

"Well, sort of," Ginny says, playing with the frayed fabric at the edge of her maroon jumper, "I'm her bloody _reserve_."

Harry winces, and Ginny's glad he understands. That's part of the reason Ginny wants to stay in tonight: she can't stand all the congratulations and excitement. Being a reserve on a Quidditch team isn't that thrilling when substitutions aren't allowed during matches. Even though she'll still practice with the team and wear the uniform, she'll only get to play if Arista happens to horribly injure herself right before the match. And Ginny knows the chances of that are infinitesimal.

"All right," Harry says, "Let's stay in. I'd rather not deal with the press tonight anyways."

Ginny sits up straight at this. In all her obsession over her own problems, she'd completely forgotten about Harry's. Guilt seeps in, and she finally looks him in the face. "The trial was today," she says. "Oh, Harry, I completely forgot."

"It's okay, Ginny," he says, smiling at her as if to prove he's fine. "I'm just glad it's finally done with."

"And the verdict?" she asks, even though she knows Harry wouldn't be this calm if it had been anything other than guilty.

"Guilty of all charges," he confirms, and Ginny lets out a small sigh of relief. This case has been eating away at Harry for ages, and she's glad he can finally lay the whole thing to rest.

It started nearly six months ago, when an entire pureblood family had been murdered in their sleep, and the tragedy stirred up a lot of controversy in the Wizarding world. Some mourned the loss of one of the last truly-pureblood families left in Britain, and longed for the days when blood purity still meant something. Others argued that it was merely nature taking its course, and that the world would probably be better off without so many of the intermarriages that were common in pureblood families. It was only a small minority that focused on the murder itself and the tragedy of the lives lost.

Harry had been vital in capturing the dark witch responsible—a half-blood named Calista Hopkins whose parents had been killed in the Second War—and, as such, he'd been dragged into the battle between conservation and progress. Both sides liked to twist his words and claim him a supporter of their cause, even though, in reality, he tends to avoid politics and just wants to see villains brought to justice. Ginny hopes the whole ordeal will quiet down now that the trial's over.

"Did they sentence her?" Ginny asks.

Harry nods. "She'll receive the Kiss in six months," he says, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes tiredly before replacing them. "The A.K.A. was there," he adds with a pointed look.

Righteous anger begins to bubble inside Ginny.

Dementors have been a particularly pervasive topic in Wizarding politics as of late. In the aftermath of the Second War, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly appointed Minister of Magic, decided that there was too much power in his position. So he created an elected group of advisors with whom he could share power and responsibilities. It was a fair plan—and most wizards and witches have been happy to avoid the blunders that had occurred under the administration of Cornelius Fudge—but it's also created a whole new set of issues. It's much more difficult to pass laws now, and often the compromises between Kingsley and the Advisory Council only lead to the discontent of everyone. And when Kinglsey decided to permanently remove the Dementors from Azkaban, the Council insisted the Ministry still administer the Kiss to those who commit atrocious crimes.

But when purebloods like the Malfoys were let off relatively easily after the Second War and poorer criminals were sentenced to receive the Kiss, there was public outrage. Activists started popping up all over the place, and the Anti-Kiss Alliance has quickly become the most popular protest group. While Ginny understands the merits of these groups' arguments, she hates their methods, particularly where her boyfriend is concerned. Even though Harry has publically stated his dislike of the practice, his testimonies have also been instrumental in many criminals being sentenced with the Kiss—a fact that's earned him a lot of personal criticism from groups like the A.K.A.. Ginny can't stand any of it. Will Harry ever be left in peace?

"Why don't they realize you're just doing your job?"

Harry smiles wryly. "I think they realize, they just choose to ignore it," he says, shrugging. "Targeting me helps them gain attention."

Sighing heavily, Ginny curls her feet under her and tucks her head back onto Harry's shoulder. "People are gits," she says with a frown.

"I don't know," he says quietly, "You're not so bad."

She laughs despite herself and looks up at him. A smile plays at the edges of his mouth, and there's playfulness in his eyes. "You're not so bad either, Potter," she says, smiling back at him.

And then they're kissing. And all thoughts of politics, Quidditch, and even dinner are forgotten, at least for now.

* * *

**Five Months Later**

"And Taylor has caught the Snitch! That's right folks, the Holyhead Harpies have won the match with two-hundred and forty points!"

The roar of the crowd is deafening, and Ginny can't help the wide grin that spreads across her face. Barely taking the time to toss the Quaffle back to the referee, she speeds to the center of the pitch where her teammates are piled. She flies into the mess and they welcome her into the huddle with yells of "Weasley!" Hands clap her on the back, and she beams around at her fellow Harpies. The exhilaration of a match won—especially when she's been vital to the victory—is one of Ginny's favorite feelings. Warmth fills her chest, making her short of breath, but it's not an unpleasant sensation. It's better than Firewhiskey. It's almost on par with sex.

This win is a gateway, and to Ginny it feels like a beginning. It had been a close match against the Ballycastle Bats, who were at the top of the League, especially without the Harpies' star chaser. But this win has pretty well guaranteed the Harpies a place in the playoffs, and Ginny had been key in making it happen, scoring sixty of their total points herself. She'd played extremely well tonight, and she knows it. When Arista never showed up to practice, the team had been worried: _Could they win without her?_ But Ginny saw it as an opportunity—a chance to play without being in the shadow of the always-popular Arista Quigley. She took the chance, she flew with it, and she led her team to a win.

"I think we all know who deserves the Snitch tonight," Gwenog Jones, the team's captain, says while the Harpies are still in their victory huddle. "To the witch who saved our arses: Ginny Weasley!"

Ginny accepts the cheers and the Golden Snitch with a wide grin. "You _bet_ I deserve this," she says, rousing laughter from her teammates.

They fly to the ground together and begin to make their way to the locker rooms, avoiding the press buzzing around them with questions and the fans yelling for autographs—there will be time for all that later, after they've showered and cooled off.

Ginny walks by herself, in the front of the pack, with a brilliant smile. She's proud of her performance, and she's also anxious to shower, get the press conference over with, and then meet her family outside the stadium. There's going to be a big party at the Burrow tonight celebrating her sister-in-law Fleur's birthday—and now the Harpies' win—and Ginny can't wait to be surrounded by familiar redheads and boisterous laughter. She slings her broom over her shoulders and ups her pace in excitement.

"I swear, I'm going to curse the _ears_ off of Quigley when I find her…" Ginny hears from behind her. It's Gwenog who's complaining, and Ginny's not surprised. The joy of victory always tends to be fleeting for the Harpies' captain.

"The _ears_?" asks Tatum Taylor, the team's good-humored seeker, laughing brightly. "Calm down, Gwen. We just beat the _Bats_ for Merlin's sake!"

Ginny smiles to herself. The pragmatic Gwenog and optimistic Tatum always bicker at the end of matches, the former already thinking about the next practice and the latter focusing on the celebration.

With the noise of the boisterous crowd and her yelling teammates behind her, Ginny shoves open the door to the team's locker room, and stops abruptly in the doorway. A sort of iciness envelops her body, stopping her blood-flow, obstructing her breathing, preventing her from moving forward into the not-quite empty room.

"What's up, Gin?" asks Tatum cheerfully, stopping behind Ginny.

"Something wrong, Weasley?" echoes Gwenog, a bluntness to her voice. Gwenog's presence—a constant driving force on the pitch—shakes Ginny into awareness.

Without answering either question, Ginny steps into the locker room, dropping her broom somewhere by the door, and runs over to where Arista Quigley lies unmoving on the ground.

She's leaning against her own locker, head slumped to the side. Her skin, normally dark, is pallid, faintly green, and covered in a sheen of sweat. Her brown eyes are wide, glazed over, and staring into nothing. Ginny crouches at her side, immediately checking for a pulse that she knows won't be there. Arista's neck is cold and stiff, and Ginny can't feel any familiar rhythm under her fingertips.

"Bloody hell," she hears Gwenog murmur behind her.

"Someone find a Healer!" yells the voice of the Harpies' third chaser, Nadia Nassar.

"What's that?" asks Gwenog, and Ginny realizes that she's crouched down next to her. She glances to the side and follows Gwenog's pointing finger to Arista's clenched right fist. A scrap of parchment sticks out between her knuckles, her other hand curled around a vial with the dregs of a purple liquid.

"It's a note," says Ginny quietly, and, after a few moments of indecision, she pries Arista's hand open and removes the small bit of parchment. She opens it with shaky fingers. _Mom and Dad_, it reads, _I love you so much. I'm sorry_.

She hands the paper to Gwenog with an ache in her chest, rocking back on her heels and wrapping her arms around her legs.

"A suicide note," Gwenog says, tucking the parchment back into Arista's palm. Ginny looks at Gwenog and nods wordlessly. Gwenog, with skin darker than Arista's, is almost as pale, and Ginny's shaken by seeing her tough, stoic captain in such a state.

"Excuse me," says a brisk, but gentle voice behind them. Ginny turns to see a Magical Law Enforcement official in royal blue robes standing with her wand in one hand and her badge in the other. Ginny and Gwenog quickly stand to make room for the woman and the other two officials behind her, moving over to where the rest of the Harpies are huddled out of the way. The woman gets to work immediately, kneeling beside Arista's body and waving her wand with quiet murmurs. A wizard levitates the vial and the piece of parchment out of Arista's hands, carefully depositing them into clearly-labeled evidence bags. The third official waves his wand around the room, and the walls light up different colors in response; the wizard nods and jots down notes in a notepad.

Ginny can't help herself from glancing at the door to the locker room, hoping to see someone in black robes, the uniform required of Aurors. A small hand grabs hers, and Ginny is surprised to see Tatum has done it. Ginny squeezes her hand in what she hopes is reassurance, and then glances around at the rest of her teammates. They're all pale and wide-eyed, watching the officials work methodically around the dead body of their friend and teammate. Ginny is more familiar with death than most, but she feels the shock too. It's unfathomable that Arista could be dead, and the idea that she took her own life is hard to accept. It seems impossible.

Ginny's attention is pulled away from the Harpies by the door to the locker room swinging open. Her pulse quickens, then steadies as relief washes over her. Two wizards in black robes have just entered the room, one of whom Ginny is very grateful to see.

Ron Weasley, Ginny's older brother, has his professional face on, so Ginny doesn't run to meet him like she might under different circumstances. He nods to her as he passes, and then shakes the hand of the witch who'd spoken to Ginny earlier. The two converse quietly for a few moments, the other Ministry officials still working, and the other Auror standing silently beside Ron. She doesn't recognize this wizard, and it strikes her as strange—she's met the entire Auror department at the various functions and charities they put on. He looks alarmingly young, his dark hair shaggy and his light skin littered with freckles, and Ginny wonders if he's just graduated from the Academy.

Ron nods to the witch, shakes her hand once again, and then approaches the Harpies. Ginny drops Tatum's hand with one last squeeze and steps forward to meet her brother.

"Hey, Ginny," he greets. He places a hand on her shoulder and leans forward, "We'll talk later."

At her nod, he takes a step back and addresses the team. "Ladies, we're going to ask that you all go home now, with the exception of Ginny here and Miss Jones, and we'll contact you by owl in the next few days. We'd also appreciate it if you didn't speak with the press just yet. As this is an official Ministry investigation, we'd like to keep all information about the case confidential."

"What do you have to investigate?" asks Selene Potts, the Harpies' other beater who tends to be tactless and blunt. "Isn't it obvious that Quigley did herself in?"

"We're going to gather all the evidence before we make any conclusions," Ron says in a bored, detached voice; this statement is clearly a rehearsed one.

"Leave it, Potts," says Gwenog, turning to glare at the beater.

As the Harpies trickle out of the locker room, Ron walks back over to the Ministry officials, who are now sealing their evidence bags and carefully wrapping Arista's body in a bag of its own. Ginny glances at the young Auror again and starts when they make eye contact. His eyes quickly dart away, and Ginny frowns at the back of his head.

"How long do you reckon your brother will keep us?" asks Gwenog.

Ginny pushes the weird feeling she's gotten from the Auror out of her mind and turns to her captain. "I don't think it'll take long," Ginny says with a shrug. "They just have to ask us all the usual questions."

After a few moments of waiting, Ron returns. "Sorry about that," he says. "We're going back to Headquarters while they finish up here. If you'll follow us."

As she and Gwenog follow Ron out of the locker room, Ginny muses on how strange it is to see Ron working. She's so used to her lazy, loud, obnoxious big brother, she doesn't know how to comprehend Auror Weasley. But when she tries to link her arm through his and he jerks away with a noise of disgust, Ginny grins and knows that her brother is still inside that professional exterior.

As they walk along the sidelines of the pitch towards the designated Apparition area, Ginny glances at the empty stands. Not too long ago they were filled with celebratory Harpies supporters and angry Ballycastle fans, and now they're completely devoid of excitement. Ginny can barely make out janitorial wizards waving their wands to clean the mess left by the spectators. The match already seems like a lifetime ago.

Once they've reached the cordoned off Apparition zone, Ron turns around.

"Weasley," Gwenog says before he can open his mouth, "I just remembered that we've got a press conference in a half hour. What's it going to look like when we don't show?"

"Ackerley here already contacted your team manager," he says, jerking his thumb at the younger Auror—Ginny looks at him again, but this time he's staring determinately at the ground. "She's going to take care of it."

At Gwenog's satisfied nod, Ron continues, "We'll have to Apparate side-along to get you into Headquarters, so Ginny'll come with me, and, Ackerley, you can escort Miss Jones."

"Understood," says Ackerley, speaking for the first time since he and Ron arrived on the scene. His voice, almost jarringly deep, sends goosebumps down Ginny's spine. She can't shake the feeling that there's something off about him.

"Ready, Gin?" asks Ron at her side. At her nod, he grabs her elbow and spins on the spot.

After that nauseating, squeezing sensation that Ginny doesn't think she'll ever get used to, Ron and Ginny appear in the middle of the Auror Headquarters on the second floor of the Ministry of Magic. Wizards and witches in black walk by hurriedly, seemingly unbothered by Ginny and Ron's appearance, brightly colored memos zoom through the air, and Ginny's fairly certain she can hear an ominous, muffled pounding from somewhere close by. Ginny reflexively turns toward Harry's empty cubicle.

Ron catches her looking. "He got called away about halfway through the match," he explains, and Ginny can't help the disappointment that sweeps through her. She's been dating Harry for nearly four years now and is used to his leaving suddenly and for uncertain amounts of time, but she hasn't learned to like it. "He wanted me to apologize and tell you he'd see you at your place," Ron continues, frowning. "Although, I'm not sure what business he has at your flat this late at night."

Ginny grins and is just about to make a lewd joke when Gwenog and Ackerley appear beside them.

"Brilliant," Ron says, clearly eager to escape Ginny's teasing. "Let's go chat in the conference room."

The four weave their way through crowded cubicles and into a private room with a long table and plenty of chairs. Ron locks the door behind them with a quick flick of his wand and motions for Ginny and Gwenog to pick a chair. As they get settled, Ackerley takes a seat opposite of them and Ron grabs a pad of paper and a quill from a cabinet tucked in the corner of the room. Sitting down next to Ackerley, Ron taps the quill with his wand and places its tip on the paper so it stands upright.

"Alright," he says, lacing his fingers together on top of the table. It all seems mechanic to Ginny, like Ron doesn't even notice what he's doing. "Let's start with what happened after the match ended tonight."

Ginny and Gwenog exchange silent looks, and then the latter begins. "Well, after the match, we always have a huddle in the middle of the pitch," she says, her tone flat, like she's describing a new formation to the Harpies. "Tonight was more rowdy than usual, for obvious reasons, so we were slow getting back to the locker room. We were all walking together, and Ginny, here, was in the front and when she opened the door she just stopped in the doorway."

"I could see her," Ginny explains. "Arista was sitting by her locker and I knew something was wrong. She was—well, she was pale as death, I suppose. And her eyes were open, but they weren't looking anywhere."

Ginny can feel that same coldness start to come over her as she remembers—it makes her limbs feel weak, it makes her voice shake a little. "I ran over and checked her pulse," she says, "while some of the other Harpies found you lot. And then Gwenog…" she trails off, looking to her captain.

"I noticed what Arista was holding," Gwenog says. "She had a vial in one hand, and I assumed it's what she drank to do herself in. And there was a note in her other hand."

"Did you read it?" Ron asks.

"Yes, we both did," says Gwenog. "She was telling her Mum and Dad goodbye."

"We put the note back in her hand, and then the crime scene officials showed up," says Ginny in conclusion, glad to be done reliving the evening.

Ron nods, his eyebrows furrowed, and glances at what the quill—transcribing the conversation—has written. "Right," he says, looking back up. "How long was Miss Quigley missing. She wasn't at the match tonight, obviously, but had she been showing up to practices?"

"She was at our practice last night," says Gwenog. "But she wasn't there for our run this morning."

"It wasn't like her at all," Ginny adds in a low voice. Arista was always annoyingly punctual and on top of things. It tended to make Ginny, perpetually late and unorganized, look bad in comparison.

"So it was strange for her to skive off?" asks Ron, leaning forward.

"Definitely," confirms Ginny, and Gwenog echoes with a nod.

"And you didn't think to report her missing?"

Ginny and Gwenog exchange surprised looks, the thought having only just occurred to the both of them. "To be honest," Gwenog says, "we were too worried about the match to be concerned about where Arista was."

It's a to-the-point statement, and just the sort of thing Gwenog would say. It makes Ginny feel guilty—she'd acted upset for the team when Arista hadn't shown up for their run early that morning, but inside she was happy to finally have a chance to play her hardest and have people notice. At the time, she'd been _glad_ Arista was missing.

Ron merely nods in response, but Ginny knows he understands. He'd been two hours late to a birthday party for his girlfriend, Hermione, once because he'd lost track of time listening to a Cannon's game on the wireless. And Quidditch isn't just a hobby for the Harpies, it's their entire lives.

"Listen, I'm going to be frank," says Ron. "We're almost ready to label this a suicide and call it done. Miss Quigley was holding the potion that killed her in her hand, and we have a team searching her house as we speak to look for evidence of her brewing it. Then there's the note, saying goodbye to her parents. The evidence is fairly conclusive."

As Ron talks, something in Ginny's gut starts wriggling around. It makes her feel nauseous, it feels like something is crawling up her throat and threatening to come out her mouth. The creature wriggles its way into her brain and takes root there. And no matter how much she tries to rationalize it and explain away, it won't budge.

"So, we have to ask," continues Ron, everyone in the room oblivious to the fact that Ginny's insides are about to come bursting out of her, "did Miss Quigley ever show signs that something like this might happen one day?"

"Arista was incredibly talented," says Gwenog, immediately, "and she was well-liked, but she didn't have a lot of friends. She lived alone, and I guess I could see that she might have been lonely."

"Any romantic partners?"

"She and Maggie, our keeper, dated for a couple of weeks," says Ginny, wincing because this is the first time Gwenog's hearing about it. Gwenog has a strict policy about the Harpies dating each other.

"_What?_" she demands, using the tone that means someone is going to have to run drills.

"When was this?" asks Ron quickly, before Gwenog starts yelling

"A little over a year ago," Ginny says, giving Gwenog an apologetic look. "I don't know if Arista's seen anyone since."

"And their breakup?"

"It was amicable," Ginny says. "Maggie told me it was mostly physical, anyways. There weren't any hurt feelings," she adds, not wishing to cast blame on Maggie McDermott, who was one of her closest friends on the team. She glances at Gwenog again, and is glad to see her face has returned to its normal color and her eyes are no longer burning.

"Was there anyone else on the team who might have had reason to resent or antagonize Miss Quigley?"

"Well . . . Me, I suppose," admits Ginny. The thought comes to her unbidden—she'd get to play at the Quidditch World Cup now. Hadn't she, in the darkest parts of her heart, been hoping for months that Arista would break a leg the day of the tournament or contact Dragon Pox? Had she done this with her wishful thinking?

Ron, oblivious to most things in his sister's life, looks shocked. "You?" he asks, his red eyebrows high on his tall forehead.

"I'm her replacement on the National team," she reminds him. "And I think everyone in the Wizarding world knows by now that there was tension between us. Or have you not been keeping up with Romilda's reporting?"

Ron's eyes light up in recognition. Romilda Vane, a journalist for _Quidditch Weekly,_ had taken an interest in making Ginny look bad ever since she started playing for the Harpies. Ginny's almost positive it has nothing to do with Quidditch and everything to do with whom Ginny's currently shagging.

Ron checks his watch. "Ginny, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Miss Jones, we're going to keep you just a little while longer to discuss the specifics of Miss Quigley's contract with the team."

Ginny can't help but let out a sigh in relief, but stiffens when Gwenog glares at her. "Sorry, Gwenog," she says with a smile that betrays how not sorry she actually is.

"I guess you played an okay game tonight, Weasley," is all she says in farewell.

"Ackerley," says Ron, standing, "I'm going to walk Ginny out."

Ginny turns again to the young Auror—she'd almost forgotten about him, he'd been sitting there so still and silent. He's nodding at Ron's words, but he's looking at her again. And this time he doesn't avert eye contact. His dark eyes meet hers with intensity, and she can't explain why, but it almost seems like there's an anger there, bubbling under the surface. It makes no sense. _Nothing_ makes sense tonight.

Ginny stands and, after giving Gwenog's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, follows Ron out through the crowded office (_Does no one have anything better to do at eleven-thirty at night?_) and into the lobby. Ron stops beside a lift and turns to Ginny.

"That _was_ a bloody good match, Gin," he says, almost begrudgingly, but Ginny can see the pride behind his eyes.

With a laugh, she stands on her tip-toes and throws her arms around his neck. He allows it for two heartbeats before prying her off of his person. "Merlin, Ginny, you're turning into Mum."

Just to tease him, she plants a quick kiss on his cheek. "I just love my little boy so _much_," she says, grinning as he predictably wipes his face.

"Go home," he says, shoving her towards the open lift.

"Alright, alright," she laughs, holding up her hands. "Whatever you say, Auror Weasley."

Her last view, as the doors to the lift close, is of him rolling his eyes with what she knows is brotherly affection.

As Ginny finds her way to the ground floor, she starts to feel the reality of the night sink into her bones. Arista Quigley, Ginny's biggest rival, the person who motivated her to be better, was dead. She'd never smile at Ginny in that patronizing way again or outscore her again or be ranked above her again. Ginny didn't like Arista, but _damn_ if she wasn't sad to have her gone.

Blinking away hot tears, because Ginny isn't a crier—she's _not_—she gets off the lift and tries to stop herself from sprinting to the nearest fireplace. Instead she sort of speed-walks with a slight hop, and almost drops the pot of floo powder in her eagerness to leave. With a shout and a flurry of green fire, she's back in the comfort of her own flat.

The first thing she sees—of course—is Harry, asleep on her sofa. Her heart aches as she watches him, suddenly so thankful that she has someone to come home to, that there's more to her than chasing for the Harpies, that she's never considered taking her own life.

Removing her cloak and her boots, she drops them on the ground next to the fireplace and kneels beside Harry. That same affection and heartache swelling in her chest, she softly brushes his messy, black hair off of his forehead and presses her lips to that familiar scar. He says it hasn't hurt since the day Tom Riddle's spell backfired and killed him for good. Ginny wishes all scars were like that—especially the ones inside that never quite stop aching. Before she can stop herself, she thinks of Fred, of seeing his macabre, smiling face in the Great Hall that day.

Ginny's no stranger to death, but today hit her harder than she might have let on to her brother and her teammates.

Desperate to get rid of the chill in her heart, to feel the warmth of someone she loves, Ginny crawls onto the couch carefully and curls on top on Harry. She lays her ear on his chest, listening for his steady heartbeat and comforted by the rise and fall of his chest. It's cleansing, it's calming, and she soon starts to feel her eyelids drooping. She's about to give into sleep, when warm arms pull her close and warm lips skim the top of her head.

"Hi," she says, propping herself up on an elbow so she can see him. His eyes are closed, but there's a content look on his face that makes Ginny's heart swell with feeling. She's loves that they're both so at home like this—wrapped in each others' arms. "Crazy night we've had," she jokes, because that's what she and Harry always do. They laugh, they tease, and they chase away dark days like this one.

His eyes are still closed, but she can feel the low grumble in his chest as he silently laughs. Because he can't see her, she takes the opportunity to press her mouth to his firmly. His glasses, which he apparently hadn't bothered to take off, dig into her cheeks uncomfortably, but she doesn't care. Especially when he starts to move his mouth against hers.

"Ginny," he murmurs against her lips after they've indulged themselves for several minutes. She can hear the reproach in his tone.

"I know," she says, resignedly. She kisses him once more and then sits up on his lap, her legs stretched out on both sides of him. He sits up too, settling his arms around her waist and finally looking at her. His green eyes are worried, so she quickly decides to avoid the most obvious subject.

"Ron said you got called away?" she asks.

Harry, thankfully, doesn't protest Ginny's evasion. "Some old hag claimed she saw the Dark Mark and Cam and I had to go check it out," he says, and she can hear the frustration in his voice. Half of his job is dealing with false alarms. "Sorry I missed the match. I heard you were brilliant."

"I only scored sixty points," she says with a shrug, "and basically won the game single-handedly. But, I didn't think there were any Death Eaters still at large. Wasn't Rookwood the last one to be found?"

"He was," Harry says. "But there are a few known Death Eaters who've been missing since the middle of the Second War. We're pretty sure they tried to desert and were killed, but there's no proof and—well—it certainly doesn't hurt to be cautious."

"I guess that makes sense. All part of the job."

"Definitely the worst part of what I do," he confirms.

With that, silence descends on the pair, and Ginny's knows she's going to have start talking about her own evening soon. And worse, she knows she's going to have to tell Harry what's been bothering her most. She leans her head forward, against Harry's, and stays there for a moment. When she pulls back, she sets her jaw determinately and takes a deep breath.

"I don't think Arista killed herself," she says quickly, but firmly. "I think she might've been murdered.

Harry stiffens and sits up straighter, "What?"

"It just doesn't make sense," she explains, feeling more sure in her conviction as she verbalizes it. "Why would she do it? Look, Arista only cared about one thing—Quidditch. And what's the only thing she'd lose by committing suicide? I know I had a lot of issues with Arista, but she _wouldn't_ have done this."

"What about the poison? And the note?" he asks, apparently having already received details from the Auror Office. His dark eyebrows are furrowed and his glasses have fallen to the edge of his nose—Ginny recognizes his Auror face, the one he dons when he's working on a complicated case.

Ginny grabs his shoulders. "Look, it doesn't line up with the evidence, but I _know_ something's not right, Harry. You once spent an entire year at Hogwarts convinced Draco Malfoy was Death Eater because you felt it in your gut. Well, I feel this in mine. I _know _I'm right about this."

Harry doesn't reply right away, he's staring over Ginny's shoulder, but she can tell he's taking her claims seriously. She goes on, "Will you look into this for me? I can't—I'd hate it if I thought Arista just gave up and let me have her spot on the National team." Ginny can feel herself getting choked up, but she pushes on, "She's—she _was_ my biggest competitor, but that doesn't mean—I wouldn't—"

"It's alright, Ginny," Harry interrupts, his arms tightening around her waist. "I trust you. And your instincts, too. I'll look at the case."

Ginny kisses him again and then buries her face in his neck, her heart already feeling lighter knowing she might be able to give meaning to Arista's death. "Have I told you I love you lately?" she whispers into his skin.

"Not today," he says. "But I love you too."

"Since I'm apparently being suspicious and perceptive tonight, I have something else to ask you," she says, pulling back again, but only slightly. "Do you know Ron's new partner?"

"Lance Ackerley? Sure. He only graduated from the Academy about two months ago," he says, confused by the question. "Why do you ask?"

Ginny shifts uncomfortably—she can't quite put these inklings into words, "I just—I caught him staring at me a few times. It was kind of . . . _unsettling_."

Harry laughs abruptly, and Ginny frowns. "Sorry, Ginny," he says when he sees her look of outrage, "It's just—have you _seen_ yourself tonight?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she demands, wishing he wasn't still holding her around the waist so she could put herself far away from him. Was he seriously _making fun_ of her?

"Ginny," he says firmly, pulling her closer. He leans in, eyebrows raised. "Do you have any idea how _sexy_ you look right now?"

Ginny sighs as Harry starts to plant kisses along her neck and the underside of her jaw. Ginny's confident about her looks, and she knows how her Quidditch uniform affects men, but that wasn't the impression she got from Ackerley. But, since she can't identify exactly why he bothered her so much, she decides to let it go for now.

"Have I told you how much I _love_ this uniform?" Harry whispers, pressing a kiss on the corner of her mouth and moving his hands from her waist down to her thighs.

Ginny laughs, despite herself, "Not today."

With a desire to forget her day, and a desire for Harry, too, burning in the pit of her stomach, she pushes him away and pins him to the sofa, moving her hips in a way that always drives him crazy. She smirks when he starts to groan and grip her thighs tighter. She removes her green jumper in one swift motion and leans forward to press her lips to the skin just behind his ear.

She continues to push herself deeper into him, enjoying being in control of at least one thing this evening. But then, in one motion, Harry grabs her around the waist again, stands, and throws her over his shoulder. She can't help but giggle and thinks this might be an acceptable way to end the evening too.

Ginny's not okay. Her heart still aches from the tragedy of today, she can't quite get the image of Arista's lifeless, dark eyes out of her head, and tomorrow she's going to have to face the questions of the rest of the world. But when Harry carries her to her bedroom and makes her laugh out loud, Ginny knows that she's going to be okay eventually at least.

* * *

**A/N: Hi, all! I feel like I've been searching for the perfect Harry/Ginny post-war fic for years, but I've yet to find one that satisfies all my headcanons. So, I've finally decided to suck it up and write a story of my own! This story includes some action, some politics, some angst and romance, and lots of Quidditch :) So, I hope you'll stick around for the rest! Thanks for reading, and, as always, leave a review if you'd like!**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is responsible for creating this world, I'm just living in it for a little while.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Ginny wakes up to a sharp pain in her right hand and reacts accordingly.

She shrieks loudly, sitting up and flailing her arms reflexively. She hits something small and round with her right arm, and it goes flying off of her bed and into the nearby wall. When Ginny's regained her senses enough to realize what's happened, she shoves her covers off and gingerly walks over to where a tiny owl is chirping fearfully on the ground.

"I'm sorry, Pig," Ginny apologizes, gently picking up her brother's owl, Pigwidgeon, and petting his head. "I didn't mean to hit you."

Pig hoots feebly in response and holds out his leg dutifully. With a tired sigh, Ginny retrieves the attached letter and reads it with sleepy eyes.

_Ginny,_

It's written in Hermione's handwriting rather than Ron's, she notices, which might explain why Pig is delivering letters before Ginny's awake.

_This is terribly last minute, but I was hoping you could meet me for lunch today at eleven-thirty? We're going to meet Harry and Ron at Bloxam's Bistro in Diagon Alley, if you can make it. Please send Pigwidgeon back with your answer as soon as possible!_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Ginny's surprised by the letter's contents—Hermione, Ron, and Harry, all three ministry employees, typically spend their lunch hour together on the ground floor of the Ministry, and Ginny very rarely joins them. Ginny's always understood that the three of them share something that she'll never quite be a part of, and that's okay. She wouldn't dare try to mess it up.

Ginny jots down a quick affirmation on the back of Hermione's letter and sends the note off with Pig. Collapsing back on her bed, she glances at the clock on her wall, and then groans when she realizes it's only half past seven.

Since she was officially moved up to a starting position on the National Team three weeks ago, Ginny's been spending her mornings and afternoons with the Harpies and her evenings with the English. But, due to three Harpies being out with Scrofungulus, this was Ginny's first morning in months without any sort of conditioning or practice. She'd planned to sleep in until noon today and to maybe go visit her mum for tea. Even though her plans are pretty well shot now, Ginny still burrows herself into her bed in hopes that she can go back to sleep for a couple more hours at least.

Ten minutes later and she's resigned herself to being wide-awake. She quickly showers and dresses, then makes her way to her tiny kitchen. Grabbing a muffin and the _Daily Prophet_ from the previous day, she sits down at her table. Now that the Second War's over, the popular paper has become much more reliable and much less biased in its reporting. The _Prophet_ doesn't cover up Ministry blunders or release libelous exposés on famous wizards anymore; it surprisingly just reports the news like it's supposed to. While the paper's still fixated on Harry Potter and his personal life, it doesn't try to paint him as mentally unstable like it used to, at least.

Nibbling on her muffin, Ginny opens the paper and her attention is immediately seized by the front page article. _**Wiles Wrestles with the Wizengamot **_, the headline reads.

_Next Sunday, the 6th of April, Calista Hopkins, the witch recently found responsible for the deaths of the Fawley family last year, will receive the Dementor's Kiss. The Kiss has been administered to five individuals in the past year, all of which were convicted for murder. An anonymous source, however, recently brought some interesting information to the Daily Prophet's attention: not a single recipient of the Kiss in the last two years has used a barrister to defend them. This reporter confirmed this information by personally writing Gaius Marchbanks, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. "The anonymous tip you received was accurate," he wrote, "But it's worth noting that the criminals in question all chose to represent themselves in their respective cases." Rebecca Wiles, president of the Anti-Kiss Alliance, argued otherwise when interviewed yesterday. "This is just another example of our broken legal system," she said, "The Wizengamot is fundamentally biased, and it's time we did something about that." When this reporter asked what Wiles suggested it is we should do, she merely smiled and said, "If you show up to Azkaban on Sunday, you might see." The A.K.A. will be protesting outside of the prison all day according to Wiles, and the Kiss is scheduled for ten o'clock sharp._

Ginny sets the paper back down once she's finished, rather surprised by the article. She's thankful that there was no mention of her boyfriend, which she had expected upon seeing the headline, but the information about convicts not receiving proper legal defense is troubling. She hates agreeing with anything Rebecca Wiles says, but she did have a point about the broken legal system. Even four years out from the Second War and so many aspects of the Ministry are still problematic. Kingsley Shacklebolt has done his best to reform it, but evidence like this demonstrates how the Ministry remains corrupt at its roots.

With a shake of the head, Ginny picks the paper back up and flips to the Sports section, hoping reading about Quidditch will distract her from worrying. The League standings make her smile—the Harpies are at the top of the page, just underneath the undefeated Appleby Arrows. Ginny's proud of her team; it had been a tough adjustment without Arista Quigley's methodical and precise chasing, but their energetic reserve chaser, Bianca Baddle, fit in well with Ginny and Nadia's more physical styles. Quidditch experts had declared that Holyhead could never come back from the loss of a player like Arista, but the Harpies hadn't lost a game since her death.

Ginny knows she shouldn't be this happy with Arista's death still looming over her, but the on-going Auror investigation hasn't quite let reality set in. It's almost like Arista won't really be gone until her murderer is brought to justice, until Ginny can make sense of it all.

Harry has yet to make any real progress on the case. Forensic Aurors found a used cauldron in Arista's flat, and traces of liquid inside matched the poison found in her system. The poison itself was still unknown, but Harry had recruited a potions specialist from the Department of Mysteries to identify its ingredients. The suicide note had checked out as well. There was no evidence of a forging charm being used, and Arista's mother had personally confirmed the handwriting as her daughter's. Ginny feels pretty useless when it comes to the whole mess, just sitting around and waiting for Harry to update her, but it's not like she can do any investigating of her own.

Shaking the frustrating thoughts from her head, Ginny decides that since she's awake and in want of a good distraction, she might as well give her flat the deep cleaning it's been needing for weeks. Especially since she's expecting Luna Lovegood and her new boyfriend, Rolf Scamander, over for dinner the next night. She still can't believe that Luna managed to find someone as eccentric and passionate about rare animals as she is, but Ginny's happy for her strange, kind friend. Harry's been looking forward to the dinner for weeks, and Ron's still put out that Ginny didn't invite him and Hermione over as well. "Luna's always a laugh," he had said, "And she and Hermione are bound to end up bickering at some point." Ron's arguments had done nothing but validate Ginny's reasons for excluding them.

By the time her flat is spotless and she's returned a couple owls that have been piling up on her desk, it's time to meet Hermione and company for their lunch. Being careful to lock up her flat—Harry had gotten angry with her the week before for accidently leaving her door unlocked—Ginny apparates to Diagon Alley. Making her way through the lunch-hour crowd, Ginny searches for Bloxam's Bistro which she's never actually heard of before. Finally, after asking the clerk at Madam Malkin's for help, she finds the restaurant in a section of Diagon Alley she hardly ever visits. Bloxam's Bistro is a ritzy, expensive type of restaurant; the staff of wizards and witches dressed in fine robes makes Ginny feel self-conscious and underdressed in her muggle jeans and shirt. It's the type of place that Ginny would never willingly visit, and she's surprised that it's what Hermione chose as a meeting place. While Ginny and Harry both have rather glamorous jobs, neither are very glamorous themselves, preferring simple, more comfortable places for dates.

As she steps into the restaurant, she spots Hermione directly, by herself in a secluded booth. Eager to avoid curious stares at her muggle dress—or worse, be caught by the press—she walks over to Hermione hastily and seats herself on the opposite side of the booth.

As Hermione greets her brightly, Ginny treats her with a glare.

"Seven-thirty, Hermione?" she says bitterly. "_Seven-thirty?_"

"What?" Hermione asks, nonplussed. "Were you still in bed?"

Ginny's about to tell her that yes, she was still in bed when that ruddy owl attacked her hand, but then she sees the look on Hermione's face. It's that familiar look of half disbelief, half disappointment, the one that always manages to make Ginny feel guilty, feel like she should be doing something more meaningful with her life.

So, instead, Ginny just sighs. "Yes, Hermione, but that's all right."

"Brilliant," Hermione smiles, and Ginny has the sense that she knows exactly what she just did. "How's Quidditch?" she asks, changing the subject smoothly—the fact that Hermione rarely asks her about the sport confirms Ginny's suspicions.

"Exhausting," Ginny answers truthfully, "But it's worth it."

"Are you doing all right switching between two teams?" Hermione asks, time-management being a comfortable topic for her.

"It's not easy, but I think I'm getting used to it. Besides, there are only a few more weeks left in the Harpies' season."

"That's right," Hermione says, "Ron mentioned something about getting tickets for the League Finals." Upon alluding to her boyfriend, Hermione checks her watch. "_Where are Ron and Harry?_" she demands, irritably.

"Oh, you know those two," Ginny says, waving a hand lazily, "They're always a couple steps behind."

"Excuse me?" says a curt voice beside them. Ginny starts and then grins when she notices that Harry's snuck up on them. His arms are crossed and one eyebrow is raised above his glasses.

"Don't be such a baby, Potter," Ginny teases, grabbing his hand and tugging him into the booth beside her.

Harry opens his mouth to retort, but Hermione cuts him off—"Where's Ron?" she hisses, glaring at Harry like it's his fault her boyfriend is the last to arrive.

"He got held up with some paperwork," Harry says with a shrug, unaffected by Hermione's narrowed eyes, and then smirks. "And he sent me along to 'calm you the hell down,'" he adds, making quotations with his fingers and laughing at Hermione's outraged look.

"This is love, Harry," Ginny pipes in, seeing as Hermione looks ready to turn her wand on everyone in the restaurant, "The ability to infuriate one another to the point of homicide. You and I should really work on that."

"I could miss your next match?" he suggests with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"I could leave my door unlocked all night?" she counters.

Harry laughs and presses his lips to hers, smiling through the kiss.

"Oi!" says a loud voice. "I just got here and you're already snogging," Ron pouts, seating himself next to Hermione. He's red in the face and his jaw is clenched, the way he always gets when Harry and Ginny show affection—like it's taking all his concentration not to punch Harry in the face. They've been together for years now, and Ginny frequently wonders how much longer it will take him to get used to it.

In protest of her brother's ridiculousness, she kisses Harry again, and then leans back in her seat. "You're late," she points out, grinning as Hermione turns her glower to Ron.

"Of all the lunch dates to be late to . . ." Hermione mutters, crossing her arms in a huff.

Ron winces, and Ginny narrows her eyes in suspicion. Why exactly was this lunch so important?

"I know," Ron says, wrapping an arm around Hermione and trying to get her to look him in the eye, "I'm sorry."

At Ron's honest apology, Hermione rolls her eyes but her gaze gets softer. "Alright," she says, shifting a little closer to Ron, albeit begrudgingly. "Today's supposed to be happy, anyways.

Suspicion turns to premonition, and Ginny has to fight the urge to beam at the completely unsubtle pair in front of her. She turns to look at Harry, wondering if he's caught on as well, but he's glancing around the restaurant instead of paying attention to his best friends.

Ginny clears her throat loudly. "What's going on?" she asks, trying to feign ignorance with a lightness to her voice. Ginny's always been a good actor.

Hermione jumps slightly at Ginny's interruption and nervously begins tugging at her hair. "I wanted to wait until after we've eaten," she says, glancing at Ron and giving him a meaningful look. When he shrugs, Hermione turns back to Ginny. "But, I suppose now is as good a time as ever."

Ginny elbows Harry, making sure he's paying attention, and then holds her breath.

"We're getting married!" Hermione practically squeals. Even Ron is grinning, blushing terribly, but looking proud and excited nonetheless.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaims, immediately reaching across the table to pull her into a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you," she says into Hermione's bushy hair. Ginny pulls back, and the two beam at each other for a moment before turning to Harry and Ron who are clapping each other on the back and grinning almost as widely as the women.

"Blimey," Harry says, looking to Hermione. "It's finally happening."

Hermione looks ready to cry as she pulls Harry into an embrace. Ginny grins at her brother over their shoulders and raises an eyebrow, "About time, Ron."

After a few more congratulations and embraces, and after Hermione's ordered a bottle of champagne to share, the four settle back into the booth.

"When did he pop the question?" Ginny asks while admiring the ring that Hermione had disillusioned and admitting that Ron's taste wasn't too bad.

"Last night," Hermione says, planting a kiss on her _fiancé's_ cheek. "At King's Cross."

"Where you first met?" asks Harry, grabbing Ginny's hand under the table and giving it a squeeze. It's where they first met too, after all, those ten years ago.

"While, technically we met on the train," clarifies Hermione, "but it was close enough. It was perfect," she corrects. She beams at Ron who looks slightly green in the face. But, he leans in to kiss her anyway.

"The reason we wanted to tell you two first," Hermione says, after they've pulled apart, "Well, beside your being our best friends—is because we wanted to ask you both something."

Hermione elbows Ron in the side meaningfully. "I know," he says, a little grumpily, but sits up straighter anyways and clears his throat. "Harry," he begins, not making eye contact with anyone at the table, including Harry. "I thought—well, I wondered if you wanted to be my best man?"

"Did you think I'd say no, Ron?" Harry laughs, "I've only been expecting this question since fourth year."

Ginny smiles with affection as the two boys grin at each other, albeit a little bashfully.

"And Ginny," Hermione says, "Will you be my maid of honor?"

Ginny places a finger over her lips, as if thinking it over. "Well," she says, "Seeing as the last time I was in a wedding party Death Eater's crashed, I wouldn't miss it."

* * *

"Alright, Weasley, take your shot!"

Ginny hears the shouts of Clarisse Chen, captain of the English National team, and zooms towards the goalposts, Quaffle tucked securely under her arm. As she approaches, she can see the keeper, hovering right in front of the middle hoop, and some part of her brain remembers that he'd broken his right arm earlier in the practice. The team healer had mended it right away, of course, but experience tells Ginny that she can still exploit the injury. Now within scoring range, Ginny rears her arm back, aiming for the Keeper's left side, but at the last minute throws a wide shot to the right instead. It's a risky shot, just barely inside the hoop, but her intuition pays off when the Keeper is too scared to extend his right arm completely.

As the Quaffle soars through the hoop, Ginny lets out a loud whoop of joy and flies down to the where her fellow chasers are waiting on the sidelines for their turn to practice penalty shots.

"Not bad, Weasley," says Rowan Davies, a young, blonde-haired man from Tutshill. His arms are crossed over his chest as if he's unimpressed, but he's grinning at her with a mouth of straight, white teeth.

"She'll fit in alright," adds the other chaser, Shane Sato, who plays for the Tornados as well. He holds out a hand for a high-five, which Ginny does enthusiastically.

"Damn right," she says, earning laughter from both men.

Ginny was worried that the two would have a hard time adjusting with Ginny joining so late in the game, but the three chasers already seem to have natural chemistry on the pitch, much to Ginny's relief.

"Weasley! Davies! Sato! What the _hell_ are you doing? Get your arses back on the pitch!"

Rowan gives Ginny a wink and Shane laughs brightly before they both get back on their brooms and fly away. Ginny hasn't played Quidditch with men in ages, being on an exclusively-female team, and she hadn't realized until just now how much she's missed it. Growing up in the Burrow with six older brothers meant Ginny was around men all the time, and it feels good to be on a team with them again. It reminds her of Quidditch at Hogwarts and all the good times she'd had with the Gryffindor team.

Ginny started practicing full time with the English team a month ago, and she's only just starting to feel good about it. She'd been worried about resentment from the loss of a great player like Arista, but Ginny's been getting along with her teammates better than she could have hoped. And she's finally let herself feel excited for the World Cup, which was due to start in late July. Ireland was hosting this year, and Ginny's family had already bought tickets to their opening match against New Zealand, a match the English were heavily favored to win.

"You did all right, Weasley," says Clarisse once they've finished their practice. She'd let them out a few minutes early today. "I can't stand to look at any of you anymore" is what she'd said in her abrupt way of speaking which seemed to mirror the harshness of her short, black hair on her angular features.

"Thanks, Chen," says Ginny, cherishing the compliment which is probably more rare than those from Gwenog, even.

Clarisse merely nods and walks away to the locker room.

"Hey, Weasley," says Rowan, taking the captain's spot next to her. He's accompanied by Shane, which seems to be a common occurrence. She'd heard rumors that the two were best friends on and off the pitch, and their actions the past couple of weeks have confirmed it.

"Hello, boys," she greets with a grin.

Rowan throws an arm around her shoulders casually, "Wanna join Shane and me for some drinks?"

In the short time she's known him, she's found that Rowan's incredibly direct, says everything with a flirtatious undertone, and isn't to be taken seriously. Shane isn't quite as loud as his friend, but he has a wicked sense of humor that's already gotten Ginny in trouble for laughing during practice on more than one occasion.

Ginny's temped to take Rowan up on his offer—she enjoys the company of both men and she knows it's important to bond with her teammates, but she already has plans with Harry tonight. And her boyfriend probably wouldn't appreciate it if she showed up to their date completely smashed after drinking with two other men.

"I wish I could . . ." Ginny says, trailing off.

Rowan removes his arm from Ginny's shoulders immediately, his face a mixture of artificial affront and genuine amusement. "Come on, Weasley," he says, "What's more important than hanging out with your new best mates?"

"I can guess," says Shane, smirking slightly. "She's probably got a date with that boyfriend of hers."

When Ginny merely raises her eyebrows in response, both men laugh.

"Looks like you're right, mate," grins Rowan.

"It's hard to compete with the savior of the Wizarding world," sighs Shane.

"True," echoes Rowan, sullenly. "Next time, eh, Weasley?"

"I'll buy a round," she agrees, rolling her eyes at their dramatics, but smiling all the same.

"Hear, hear!" cries Rowan, his sulking forgotten.

"We'll hold you to it," says Shane seriously as the two head off towards the locker room, brooms slung over their shoulders.

Ginny glances around as they walk away and realizes she's the last one on the pitch. Tossing her own broom down, she collapses onto the ground next to it and stretches her arms out on the short grass. It's been a good day, but it's been a long one too, and Ginny can't resist the urge to just sit still for a moment and rest.

Ginny's been feeling stretched thin lately, playing for two separate, fundamentally different teams, juggling between her role as a girlfriend, an aunt, a sister, a daughter, a friend. And Hermione has been stealing all her free time the last week, talking excitedly over wedding plans. After telling the whole Weasley clan, they'd decided on a date, and it's only three months away (neither Ron nor Hermione wanted anything big that needed excessive planning). July the fifth is the day they chose, the Saturday before Ginny has to report in Ireland for the World Cup. She'd be there for nearly two months, cut off from everything in the world besides Quidditch and her teammates.

Unconsciously, her mind moves to contemplating a more distant future—one she hasn't been able to stop thinking about the past week. Ron and Hermione's engagement had been a pointed reminder about the stagnation in her own relationship. Ginny loves Harry, she really does, but a dark part of her is frustrated that they've been in the same place for so long—clearly committed to one another but unable to discuss a more permanent arrangement. They've yet to talk about marriage or even moving in together (although she's not certain her old-fashioned mum or her brothers would be too happy about the latter option).

But, she supposes the whole thing is kind of moot. She can't imagine starting a family any time soon—she's only twenty, after all, and she and Harry both lead very busy and separate lives. Twelve hours of her day are devoted to Quidditch, and she travels more often than not. And Harry disappears for days on end without so much as a warning or an owl letting her know he's all right. But both love what they do, and Ginny knows she could never ask Harry to give up his profession when she couldn't give up hers.

And did Harry even want kids? Did _Ginny_? When she was younger, she'd sworn that she'd never be a mother, never be like _her_ mum. The mother of seven, Molly Weasley was perpetually exhausted when Ginny was growing up, always cleaning up after someone else or spending sleepless nights worrying in front of that clock of hers. Her mum never complained, but Ginny still wonders if she'd ever wanted more for herself besides being a mother.

Ginny had always craved independence, space, something that was only hers—no toddlers to keep track of, no husband to nag. Now, she doesn't quite know what she wants anymore. The idea of having children isn't quite so repulsive, but she's just not sure she has it in her to be a mother.

After considering her inner desires for a little longer and coming to no clear conclusions, Ginny gathers her things and returns to her flat. Taking her time showering and getting ready to meet Harry, Ginny decides that she might as well fix her hair more nicely than normal. Harry loves her hair, she knows, and she feels in the mood to please. By the time she's applied a few curls with her wand and pinned up the front, Harry still hasn't arrive and it's starting to worry Ginny. They'd agreed on seven—Harry typically gets off at 6:30—but it was already a quarter past.

Wondering if perhaps Harry got held up at the office, she quickly resolves to apparate to his flat, just in case. After pacing around his sparsely-furnished and decidedly-empty loft for fifteen more minutes, Ginny gives in and reasons that a quick visit to the Auror Office can't hurt.

When the lift stops on the second floor and Ginny is immediately greeted with a vision of too-many-bodies-in-one-place, she knows something's gone wrong. Desperately trying to see over the heads of several reporters being held back by security officials, Ginny makes eye contact with someone who's just exited the Auror Department.

Camden Murray, or Cam as she prefers to be called, makes her way to Ginny quickly, grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her back into the lift. "You shouldn't be here," she says in a quiet, singsong voice.

Cam, a couple years older than Harry, has been his partner since he graduated from the Academy two years ago. She smiles easily, laughs embarrassingly loud, and is always quick to call Harry out on his shit—she and Ginny get along swimmingly. Harry hates being around the two of them; they tend to tease him mercilessly and exchange embarrassing stories all at his expense. Ginny couldn't have asked for Harry to have a better co-worker. And it's always helped that Cam's married and isn't attracted to Ginny's boyfriend in the least.

"Where's Harry? What's going on?" Ginny asks after Cam has secured them in the descending lift.

"Harry's busy. As is the entire Auror department," Cam says unhelpfully. Seeing Ginny's unamused glare, she sighs, "Well, it's two things, actually. Two pretty big things."

"Just tell me, Cam," Ginny says, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.

"I'm getting there." the older woman says, opening the lift once they've reached the ground floor. She tugs Ginny off after her and leads her to a secluded corner where they can talk uninterrupted. "Less meaningful for you is what happened at Azkaban this morning."

"Azkaban?" Ginny asked, furrowing her brow and trying to recall if she had heard anything about the prison lately. She remembers quickly. "Callista Hopkins was supposed to get the Kiss today wasn't she? Did something happen with the protestors?"

Cam shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "No, they just got in the bloody way. It's the Dementors—they're gone.

"Gone?"

"The whole lot," Cam confirms, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. "No one's quite sure when it happened. Apparently the guards aren't too keen on checking up on the Dementors. Someone could have released them weeks ago and we would've had no idea."

"Are you sure the A.K.A. didn't have anything to do with this?" Ginny asks. She's never been one to believe in coincidences, and this seems like just the stunt they'd like to pull.

"We're not sure of anything right now," Cam replies, and Ginny can see how tired she is—she's probably been working nonstop today, "but we're looking into it."

"And the other thing? The one that's more meaningful for me?"

Cam looks around the lobby once more, as if to confirm no one's listening in. "It's the Quigley case, Gin," she whispers.

Icy water trickles down her spine, and Ginny suddenly can't breathe properly. She leans heavily on the wall behind her, willing her nerves to relax and her lungs to work.

"Was I right?" she asks, needing to know the answer more than she needs air. When Cam nods slowly, a breath escapes Ginny's chest in one whoosh and her heart stops beating so rapidly. It's strange, she thinks, that finding out someone's been murdered brings her such relief.

"We had a charms specialist examine the body," Cam explains, her voice low. "She found evidence that it had been tampered with—Arista Quigley died _hours_ before you found her in the locker room."

"Which means someone put her there . . ." Ginny nods in understanding, even as her mind becomes more befuddled with the _why_ of it all.

"Right," Cam agrees. She grabs Ginny's arm firmly. "But, Ginny, do you realize what this means? None of the Harpies have alibis anymore—you included."

The reality of it strikes Ginny in an instant. "I'm a suspect now," she says. At Cam's reluctant look, Ginny's eyes widen. "I'm _the_ suspect?"

"No one actually thinks you did it," Cam says quickly. "But it's department policy you know, 'pursue all options' or whatever."

"I guess I get it," Ginny says, shrugging with a humorless laugh. "I'm the only person with something to gain from her death, after all."

When Cam winces, Ginny narrows her eyes. "What else is there?" she asks, putting her hands on her hips in that intimidating way she'd learned from her mother.

"Well, someone might have let that little detail slip to the press . . ." she explains slowly. "And your boyfriend might have been less than pleased about it . . . And he might have jinxed a fellow Auror or two . . ."

Ginny can't help but let out a laugh at that, even though the revelation about the press makes her feel like throwing something across the room or hexing someone herself. "So that explains why he stood me up."

"That's Harry Potter in a nutshell: defending his girlfriend at the expense of his girlfriend," Cam agrees with a smirk. "Last I saw he was arguing with Williamson."

Quagmire Williamson was the department head, a stickler for the rules whom Harry tended to clash with.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny rolls her eyes affectionately.

"You should probably get out of here before you're spotted, but I'll let Harry know you stopped by when he's done," Cam says, steering Ginny out of their corner and towards a fireplace. "He'll probably pretend to be angry that I didn't tell him right away, but secretly pleased he didn't have to be the one to fill you in on all this mess."

Ginny smiles, knowing Cam's probably right. "Tell him I'll be at his place."

"Are you going to stay up and reward him with sexual favors when he gets back?" Cam teases, elbowing Ginny in the side.

"It's more of a reward for _me_, actually," Ginny retorts, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "Your partner's a good shag, Murray."

Cam laughs and pulls Ginny in for a quick hug. "I did _not_ need to know that, Weasley."

Ginny laughs as well, "You started it."

* * *

Later that evening, after she's given up on waiting for Harry and eaten by herself, Ginny curls up in his bed, inhales the smell of him, and thinks about the future again. She calls her small, cheap apartment home, but inside she knows that her real home is right here. Not in Harry's practically barren flat itself, but in this _space_, cocooned in the smell of the man she can't imagine life without. Someday, maybe, they'll buy a house together and fill it with children and memories, but for right now, this is good enough.

* * *

**A/N: Here's the second chapter; I hope you enjoy it. Just a caveat, my updates might be sparse. Writing is something that I do purely for fun, and my classes this summer take precedence. But, either way, thanks for reading and sticking around!**


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